


Staying for the cold season

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon can tell when Maedhros is trying to push him away; after all, he knows guilt all too well when he sees it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staying for the cold season

“Maitimo.”

Maedhros started at the sound of his old name - he had grown unused to its syllables these past years - and twitched at the tug at his sleeve, a hand holding him back as he turned away to follow the others out of the council chamber.

He turned with a sigh. “What, Findekáno.”

“Stay for just a moment, can’t you?”

Maedhros gestured around. “I’m not going anywhere, am I? I’m staying at Barad Eithel for another week.”

“And yet you’ve been avoiding me since you arrived.”

“What? No I haven’t.”

“Yes you have. You got here this morning, and only gave me empty pleasantries, and this  _appallingly_  polite smile - ”

Maedhros’ lips twitched. “I can stop being pleasant and polite to you if you truly loath it so much, cousin.”

“Shut up and listen. I know what you’re doing here, don’t think I don’t. And so do you, because you  _always_  know what you’re doing.”

Maedhros turned around fully to look at Fingon, leaning back against the closed doors to look at Fingon, standing beside the long council table, now empty. He folded his arms. “What _am_  I doing then, pray tell?”

“You haven’t taken off your awful, cold  _diplomacy face_. You treat me just like one of the Sindarin envoys we just talked with, or one of my father’s high council.”

Maedhros frowned, half reaching out to Fingon with his left hand, before drawing it back. “That’s not true.”

Fingon crossed the distance between them so that he was standing before Maedhros. “Alright then, you treat me like you treat my father.”

“Well, I treat your father with great respect.”

“Maitimo!” Fingon placed a finger under Maedhros’ chin, raising it to meet his frustrated glare. “Stop it now. I told you, I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to draw back from me, to keep your distance. To push me away  _for my own safety_ , or something insufferable like that.”

“No, I - ”

“It’s not going to work.”

Maedhros glared back at him. “Alright, fine. I was treating you as normal cousins would treat each other. And I  _do_  want you to be safe, and happy. Is that so horribly unforgivable of me? It was only because I wanted to help you, to save you from the taint of - ”

“Oh, stop that.”

“It’s true. You’re crown prince now, Findekáno, and I'm… well, it would be better for you and for your father if you didn’t appear too close to me.”

“Don’t patronise me. I know what my duties and burdens are. It doesn’t mean I need to turn from you, and I don’t intend to. Ever.”

“It will be easier for both of us if we just start again, if we try to treat each other like - ”

His voice fell to nothing as Fingon took his face in his hands, fierce, dark blue eyes glaring into Maedhros’. “Not this again. For Eru’s sake, Maitimo, I swear - ”

Maedhros tried to turn his head away, but failed. “ _Don’t._ ”

Fingon rolled his eyes, but began again. “Maitimo, the last thing you need is yet another stick to beat yourself with. Here I thought we’d already  _been_  through all of this guilt, when we were young. There’s no reason to do this to yourself.”

“Things are different now.”

“Only some things. But alright then, there’s no reason to do this to  _me_ …”

“You will come to be happier in time, if we just…”

“ _No I won’t!_ ” snapped Fingon. “Don’t you understand, Maitimo, you damned stubborn ass -  _ugh_ , I’ve come so far with you, I’ve done so much…”

Fingon’s hands were balled into fists before him, his mouth set in a familiar hard, determined line that Maedhros knew meant that Fingon would let nothing in the world stand in his way. Despite himself, Maedhros felt a harsh stab of love for his cousin, his own heart betraying his carefully laid plans.

“There’s still a chance to step back. You can still be free, you can still save yourself - ”

Fingon kissed him then, hard and fiercely, pushing him back against the closed doors. Maedhros leaned into the kiss for a moment, his arms going about Fingon, before pushing him back, shameful red rising up his neck and spreading across his cheeks.

“Fin” said Maedhros, his voice slightly breathless. “You saved my life, and for that I will always be grateful. But I owe you better than tying you to me, than dragging you down when I fall…”

“You… you won't… stop it!” burst out Fingon. “Is that the reason you set up your fortress as far away from me as you possibly could?” said Fingon through gritted teeth. “Or is it simply to punish yourself more? Maitimo, get these ideas out of your head and stop treating me like a child.”

Maedhros closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There’s still hope for you…”

“Yes! And there’s still hope for  _you_  too…”

Maedhros shook his head, a sharp, downward motion. “No. There’s too much blood, too much darkness - ”

“Maitimo.” Fingon turned Maedhros’ face to his own again, his eyes filling with anger, tears welling at the edges of them. “ _Don’t_ , I mean it. I’ve already killed for you, bloodied my hands to keep you safe. Have you forgotten Alqualondë so soon? Or have you simply  _chosen_  to forget, to preserve the sweet young boy I used to be in that head of yours, the one you fell in love with all those years ago?”

At the mention of Alqualondë all the air went out of Maedhros’ lungs and his shoulders slumped a little, a cloud crossing his face. “Of course I haven’t forgotten” he snapped. “Don’t you think that the fact that you killed, you brought yourself under the Doom… don’t you think that weighs on my heart every day? Drawing  _you_  into the fight is probably the worst of my deeds. I may as well have bloodied your hands myself, and that must never happen again.”

Fingon’s eyes went wide with disbelief, anger rising behind them after a scant moment. “You didn’t  _force_  me to kill anyone, Maitimo” he said quietly, his voice hollow and scratchy. He let go of Maedhros, gazing down at his hands, twisting them before him in restless frustration. “I made that decision myself. I thought our people were in danger, and yes, I thought  _you_  were in danger. I… I made a mistake, and now my father pays for it, in the whispers of the people, in distrust and dissension. The king’s kinslayer son, they say, did you know that? He… he deserves a better firstborn. And  _I_  pay for it in the screams that I hear in the night.” He glared up into Maedhros’ face once more, defiant. “But if you were in danger, I would do it again. I would bloody my hands a million more times, doom myself to the Void and back, if it meant I could keep you safe.”

Maedhros made a sound of pain, dropping to his knees on the floor, covering his face with his hand. “Please, Fin. Please don’t ever say that again.” He let out a quiet, hitching sob, surprising even himself by the sudden bolt of pain that Fingon’s words had caused him. “Please tell me you don’t really mean it.”

Fingon sighed, dropping down beside him. He placed a hand on Maedhros’ back, rubbing small circles there. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. If you were in danger, and I had to slay our kin to save you… well, I don’t know  _what_  I would do. That’s the thing that scares me the most, I think.”

Maedhros looked up at him, his eyes reddened. “Findekáno” he said weakly. “Please, promise me…”

“I’ll promise you nothing” said Fingon forcefully. “I think we both know that promising doesn’t lead to anything good.”

Suddenly, Maedhros let out a weak, bitter laugh despite himself, at the very absurdity of it all. “That is the wisest thing you’ve said all day.”

Fingon leaned against his shoulder, hiding his rueful smile. “Thank you. I think.”

They sat there for a long time, side by side and half holding each other, each lost in their own thoughts.

Maedhros flinched violently when the clock on the wall began to strike the hour, followed immediately by the tower bells.

Fingon stilled him with a gentle hand to his upper arm. “It’s alright. The two of us aren’t needed anywhere today, not until supper. Father and Lalwendë are taking the guests to see the guards at their drills, or some such.”

Maedhros nodded. “Still, I suppose we should get out of this room, in case someone comes looking.”

Fingon drew himself to his feet, and Maedhros allowed him to pull him up too by the hand. “Well, if you’re quite done in your latest bout of self-pity and trying to push me away, then I do  _have_  another room we could go to, you know.”

 

Fingon’s rooms were large and beautiful, looking out over Eithel Sirion, and they had barely made it there before Fingon was pushing Maedhros against the door, hands scrabbling at clothes as they pressed close together, teeth catching lips in an urgent, desperate kiss. Maedhros could feel Fingon’s tears on his cheeks, falling salty into both their mouths. Or perhaps they were his own tears.

“See?” said Fingon indistinctly between kisses. “There’s no need to be apart. Stay here… ah… stay here with me. Don’t go back to Himring. Stay…”

“I… I have to go back” said Maedhros, making a quiet keening sound as Fingon’s hand moved to the front of his breeches, slipping within and taking hold of him even as they collapsed onto the bed in a half-painful tangle of limbs, Fingon’s face covered in a fine copper web of Maedhros’ hair. Maedhros brushed it away impatiently and kissed him again. “I have to.”

“But not yet. You’re here now” said Fingon, rolling them both over so that he was on top, straddling Maedhros and leaning down to whisper to him, between heated, reverential kisses to his throat and ears. He gritted his teeth, voice coming as a growl once more. “So don’t even mention leaving, while we’re in this room. Don’t you even  _think_  about it.”

Maedhros smiled against Fingon’s shoulder. “Like you, I’ll make no promises…” he gasped, as Fingon tugged him closer, hand knotting through Maedhros’ hair. “But… I… I’ll try my best.”

“I love you so much” murmured Fingon, over and over, chanting it so low that Maedhros could barely hear it, could more  _feel_  the words as a vibration of Fingon’s lips against his skin. “I’ve missed you, I love you, I’d do anything for you. Don’t ever leave me.”

“I won’t leave” said Maedhros, and they both knew it was a lie. Every word made burden of guilt upon him lie a little heavier. “I won’t.”

It was late autumn and it grew dark early outside as Maedhros let Fingon take control, holding him in strong but gentle arms, sweeping back his hair in a way he had tried - only half-heartedly now - to convince himself that he did not crave desperately, kissing him and making the stern words Maedhros had spoken to himself - of leaving Fingon far away, letting his cousin have a better life, of not burdening him with pain and darkness - fly to the back of his mind, there to sit as a dark patch of guilt, creeping like mildew even as he let the rest of his  _fëa_  be filled with Fingon’s brightness, sharp blue as the mountain air in the morning, warm and hopeful as the breaking dawn.

“Fin” mumbled Maedhros, suddenly needy as Fingon kissed his collarbones, hand pinned between their now near-fully unclothed bodies, stroking them both into full hardness. “I want… I want you in me, my love, I…” He dragged off the remainder of Fingon’s clothing, his fine white shirt which he had somehow forgotten, and threw it to the ground, even as he touched their foreheads together, brows and noses knocking as Fingon moved atop him.

Fingon nodded, understanding, even though Maedhros’ words had been barely intelligible, reaching for the pot of hand salve on the side table. Maedhros suddenly felt deprived, impatient and cold, and aware of the scarred expanse of his own skin. He did not want to look at it too hard. The loss of Fingon’s weight above him too left him feeling anchorless, disorientated, and his traitorous mind wondered how he had ever left, how he would ever leave Fingon behind again, though he knew he must.

He clung to Fingon’s smooth back when his cousin returned to him, trying to hold him as close as possible, through it all.

Fingon knew Maedhros’ body so well by now, as it had once been and as it was now, and he knew his heart even better, Maedhros thought. Fingon held him, touched his scored and shattered skin with sword callused fingers, wrung cries from him and brought bright tears to his cheeks all over again. Today he let Fingon take charge, letting their minds half spill one into the other - simple feelings, not clear images or thoughts - as Fingon opened him up gradually, carefully and lovingly, entered him, moved within him.

It was not enough. “Harder” Maedhros mumbled, glaring up at Fingon once more from where he lay beneath him, enveloped in Fingon’s well muscled, golden-brown arms. “More.”

“I don’t want you to - ”

“ _Please_ , Fin.”

Fingon hesitated and looked at him for a moment, searching his face, and then a smirk touched his full lips. “Alright then.”

He began to move faster, pressing up inside Maedhros, heat and friction building within him and causing him to cry out. “More” Maedhros whimpered again, and Fingon obliged, their bodies pressed so close together that Maedhros barely knew where Fingon ended and he began, taking him hard; _you’re still being too gentle_ , he wanted to tell Fingon, but he knew that his cousin would only make him pause before they carried on, make them slow down if only for a moment. He would worry and check himself at that, and Maedhros didn’t want to stop even for a second. He wanted all of Fingon, and though part of his mind screamed that he was being selfish he blocked it out, for now at least.

Blocking out parts of his mind, was, after all, a skill Maedhros had had much occasion to practice over the years.

Instead he let the moment fill his senses, Fingon inside him, the slight merging of their minds at the edges - though never too much, for Maedhros would never let him in as he used to and Fingon knew that by now, would never look unless Maedhros asked him to - the slide of heated skin and sweat dampened hair catching in eyes, in mouths, Fingon’s heavy braids spilling down over his chest and neck.

The lampstones lit Fingon from behind and Maedhros could see little of his face in the dimness, truly, but he knew those features so well by touch that it barely mattered. Fingon was inside him and all around him, and Maedhros could imagine the twist of his face as he started to come, vibrations rocking through his body. It was enough to make Maedhros feel himself falling towards the edge even without the slight opening of their minds to each other, sharp, near painful pleasure gripping him as Fingon held him down hard to the bed, driving into him and arcing above him. Fingon let out a sharp grunting cry and clung to the small of his back, his fingers digging into Maedhros’ skin, whimpering into his mouth and biting at his lips as he drew the last of Maedhros’ climax from him with his other hand.

After, Maedhros lay on his back beside Fingon, the two of them wrapped in a tangle of sheets, their hands just touching between them as they stared up at the elaborately carved canopy of Fingon’s bed, the soft blue velvet curtains shading their faces from the light. Maedhros felt wrung out, could still almost feel Fingon inside him, reliving the ungentleness of it as they lay side by side.

Maedhros tipped his head sideways, to find Fingon had already rolled onto his side to look at him, searching his face. Maedhros found himself distracted by the softness of Fingon’s kiss-bruised lips, concentrating on the details, the point where the deep red inside his mouth met soft golden skin. Now Fingon’s face was almost vulnerable, his eyes wide and strangely youthful as he gazed at Maedhros.

“What is it?”

Fingon’s hand came up to touch his cheek. Maedhros brought his own up to cover it, though the position was wrong, and his arm twisted awkwardly beneath him. It was always at times like these when he missed his right hand the most.  _He deserves better than you_ , his mind always told him.

Maedhros blinked the thought away, for now.

“You trust me so completely” Fingon was saying, sounding as though he was wondering at the idea, thinking aloud. His blue eyes, dark in the dim light, were a little sad, Maedhros saw. “I don’t know why.”

“Should I not?” Fingon was in fact the only person he trusted like that and they both knew it.

“I hurt you, once.”

“You  _saved_  me. And besides, I have hurt you more, in my time.”

Fingon’s mouth twitched. “Let’s not turn this into a competition, shall we?”

“No, let’s not. I don’t want to win.”

Fingon touched his face silently once more, letting his fingers carry on, trailing through the side of Maedhros’ hair above his ear.

Maedhros suddenly felt transported back many years to a day in Aman, when they had lain on the riverside just outside of Tirion in exactly this position, watching each other’s faces instead of the bright golden flow of nature around them, letting the heady newness and warmth of each other fill their hearts.

They were neither of them the same people as they were then.

“Do you remember - ”

“Yes” said Maedhros, letting Fingon into his mind a little, just enough to let him know they had been thinking of the exact same memory.

Fingon gave a quiet, bitter chuckle. “It’s hard to believe life was like that once. Are we sure it wasn’t just something we invented?”

“If that were so we must have had very good imagination. Those two young fools in love led such different lives to ours.”

“I suppose if we wanted to be the  _same_  we should have stayed in Tirion” said Fingon, with a rueful, twisted smile. “Not that anything would have been the same.”

“You still regret.” It wasn’t a question.

Fingon thought about this for a moment. “Yes” he said. “Some things, very deeply and often. But…” he trailed off.

“But  _only_  some things?”

Fingon nodded. “Only some things.”


End file.
